And Their Lies
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: It's gotten to the point where he knows Stiles is lying because his lips are moving.


**And Their Lies  
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**A Word**: Compliant with season 2 but not much beyond that. Something I started way back and just decided to finish now, because everyone has that one thing that'll make them cave. An things. Lots of things that I can expand on but am way too tired for right now.

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John knows something's up, something big. His son has been lying too long for it to not be something big, and he's reached his limit. Been pushed well beyond it actually.

He knows it has to do with Scott and his girlfriend. Argent. Allison Argent. It's not the way those two are on and off like only kids sick with the first blush of love can be. Not now at least. Maybe at first, but John has seen Stiles get sick of that fast. Knows that Stiles is likely to tell him the truth about their relationship because it lets off steam and is funny. It's not their relationship then, but it _is_ something about them.

That Lahey kid and Whitemore the younger are involved somehow too. Beyond what John's seeing, and way beyond teenage boys being stupid teenage boys and their prank wars.

And Hale. Derek Hale is all up in it. So up in it that he's been sneaking into Stiles' room in the middle of the night through the window and having not very subtle at all conversations. The fact that those conversations don't ever stop or devolve into suspicious silence before Hale leaves is the only reason John hasn't busted down his underage son's door and leveled a shot gun at the older man.

And, while he wouldn't put it past his son to keep on talking through sex, the fact of the matter is that Stiles is 16. Hearing his son having some alone time is unavoidable, though he does try his best to forget those thankfully few instances when the walls are far too thin. So he knows there's nothing going on between Stiles and Hale despite the evidence, the _mound_ of evidence, that should indicate otherwise.

Which is the only reason John hasn't gone after Hale with all barrels blazing before. Figuratively as well as literally, because John wants to know what's going on and he knows he won't get the answers to that from Stiles or Scott. He doesn't know enough about Lahey or Whitemore to say for sure they're involved, and Allison has a fragile air about her -the snapping, hurtful kind that will turn into an inferno- these days that makes John keep walking the one time he sees her alone in a store.

Which leaves Hale as the man he's gonna get some answers from, one way or another.

The thing is, tracking Hale is tricky. He has no residence to wait at that John can find without a warrant which is worrying in other ways than the ones he's gotten used to worrying. He's sure he can try cornering the man in his own house, but he's just as sure the man'll bolt and Stiles will run interference. No, John has to find him in public and talk to him. Preferably a very crowded public place where he'll be pressured to not make a scene or run away.

It's part luck and mostly careful stalking that leads John to cornering Hale in the grocery store one Friday as he's loading up a basket with poptarts. At least one of which is cinnamon, a flavor that John's only known Stiles to love.

"Derek!" John calls out and notes that the man doesn't go tense. No, he was tense even before John had turned the aisle and located him. "Well, fancy meeting you here."

"Sheriff," Hale says stiffly, his eyes do dart toward where the doors are, but he stands his ground. Shifting the basket to another hand to reach out and shake the one John's offering him.

"Call me John," he says as he notes the hot skin of Derek's palm and the lack of sweat. He's nervous, but not unduly so. Good. "It's not like I'm in uniform," he says as he holds up his own basket, and the single loaf of bread in it. White bread because it was the closest thing he could grab when he came in the store. Stiles would have a fit if he actually bought it, but Hale doesn't seem to know that.

He's looking at the bread and then his own basket with an almost trapped air about him. John sees a flutter of white poking out from under one of the boxes. It's a list. In the second he glimpses it he can see a lot of different colored pens, at least four different styles of writing, and a lot of junk food. He's going to have to do this again. Just to get his hands on the physical hard proof that Stiles isn't as strict with his diet as he claims to be.

But that is for a later date when he's finished figuring out what the hell is going on.

John smiles and Hale stares at him. Eyes wide and fixed, and he looks like a deer staring down a semi going ninety. John reminds himself not to laugh as he reaches over the man's shoulder to pick up a box of cinnamon poptarts and places it in his basket. "You know, Stiles likes these. He's almost addicted to them actually, and I swear he's about the only person in the entire town who eats them."

"Oh," Hale shifts. Eyes darting down to his basket again. "Really."

He's curious now why Hale and Stiles are friends. Oh, he can see why Stiles would like him. Hale is the kind of awkward brick wall that his son would just love to run all over with his- Well, Stilesims. John loves his son. He really does, but he also raised him and he knows exactly how unique the boy is. So, it's a bit harder to see what a man like Hale might get out of the friendship other than a raging headache.

John adds that thought to his list of evidence that could be misconstrued. It makes a good ending point he thinks.

"But you knew that already, didn't you?" John keeps the smile on his face and Hale blinks at him. Not denying and also not confirming. John has a feeling he could do this all day. Ease all around the issue. Hint at it and back away in the most pleasantly threatening manner possible. And Hale would just stand there like he is now. Silent with a slight look of panic behind he eyes.

It would be fun. John doesn't have as many opportunities to play interrogation as he'd like being the Sheriff. It'd always been something he'd been good at. Talking to people and getting them to slip up with a disarming smile and absolute barrage of words.

Stiles, John is not ashamed to admit, does come by his talkativeness honestly.

John can do it, but he'd really rather not. So he cuts to the chase and hits Hale hard. "After all, you do spend an awful lot of time in his room most nights. I'm sure you've picked up on some of his," John drops the smile and lets his voice go flat, "_tastes_."

"What?" Hale's eyes are wide. His jaw actually _drops_ and it's clear that he gets exactly what John's insinuating. It's also very clear that he's horrified by it. "I'm not... No, that's not-"

"That's not you climbing into my sixteen year old son's window every night? Just some other Derek Hale that looks and sounds exactly like you?" John lowers his voice so it doesn't actually carry. There's not many people in the store to hear, but he doesn't actually want to ruin the man. He just wants answers. "You're twenty-three years old. If you have a legitimate reason to be sneaking into my _child's_ room at night feel free to tell me. I'm going to be honest here and say that I really can't think of any myself. And I've _tried_. So help me out here."

Hale's eyes are wild and he looks like John just sucker punched him. The handles of the basket clink and he looks close to _bending_ them with his white knuckled grip. In the back of his mind -distant and far off because it's not important yet, nothing is as important as getting rid of these _lies_- something says, "Ah, I see."

It's the voice he attributes to his gut instinct, the one that's so rarely led him wrong before. The one that connects things even before John's willing to admit it to himself. It's solving something now, and telling him he's going to regret this later.

He'll think about it all later though, because right now all John's thinking about is Stiles. He's thinking about the bruises on his face, the _blood_ stains on his clothes. He's thinking about all the times he's stayed up working and not once heard the creak that is Stiles going to bed. The bags that started ringing his eyes until one day they disappeared and were replaced with a faint scent that John hasn't had to deal with since he gave Melissa all of Claudia's makeup. He's thinking about the way Stiles moves through their house like a ghost. The way he jumps at sudden noise or movement. The way all the tells John used to rely on for knowing when Stiles lies are gone. That he now only knows Stiles is lying because his lips are moving.

John's thinking about his _son_, and he'll be guilty and thoughtful later.

"That's _not_ what is going on," Hale says, and it comes out bitter and rusted. Growled, and the man is _glaring_ like death, but not at John. He can't really look at John without flinching right now. "Sheriff, I would _never_. Never," he's almost spitting the words out now, and he is growling. Low and constant in a way that doesn't matter to John's goal right now. "That's not what's going on."

"Then tell me," John hurls those words as hard and fast as he can and Hale flinches again. John keeps on going because he can already see the lies building up and trying to come out of Hale's lips already. "No, you tell me the truth. All of it. Right now or the next time we meet it's going to be when I haul you in on charges," again. John's not lying though, he's fully prepared to go through with this. Prepared to push as far as he needs to, and the 'next time' he sees Hale is going to be the length of time it takes him to go out to the car and grab his badge and handcuffs. "You tell me right now _exactly_ what it is, because I'm not seeing what else it _could_ be."

Hale is white, and John's been through enough interrogations to see a break slowly widening under the weight of the man's own mind and issues. He's breathing hard and shaking just a little. Like John's threatened to kill him, and maybe he has. He could. He would even mean it, because the man is old enough to be an adult. Old enough to know better than some stupid kids. John can _get_ the information he needs out of him in ways he can't with any of the children.

"Werewolves," Hale says and John stares. He doesn't say anything, just waits.

And _waits_.

"That's it?" John eventually asks and he's angry. Unbelievably angry. "Werewolves?"

"Yes," Hale says and he's not missing a beat. Not one damn skip in anything at all. He's tense as hell and angry, but projecting absolute honesty. That one word comes out like it's being dragged out of him by torture.

John wants to go. Wants to go and get those cuffs right now, because maybe he'll get the truth when the man's behind bars. Wants to but there's that voice in the back of his mind chanting a damning song of "But, but, but."

John's not a stupid man. He's not a genius, but he's not nearly as stupid as most people seem to think he is. He's seen things and he's wondered. He's had to say things that are blatantly false and write lies out on paper because the alternative was much worse. He's given people explanations and assurances that he doesn't actually have anything to back up simply because he doesn't have anything else to give them. He's listened to Melissa skirt around something that's changed Scott and not look him in the eye when she called it growing up.

Werewolves. It's ridiculous and outrageous and he's willing to give it a shot. God help him, but he is.

"You have proof for this?" John asks and Hale looks surprised. Almost stunned as he slowly nods. "Great, fantastic!" John doesn't step back or look away. "Then I want this proof tonight. My house. Five."

Hale looks back at him and he's not panicking anymore. He's back to being a blank wall. As much of one as he can be when a quick glance shows John that he actually has twisted the handles of the basket.

"Great," John says again and steps back. Pulls a smile back on and gives Hale a friendly nod. He turns to head deeper into the store. "I don't need to repeat the whole thing about hauling you in, right?"

There's no answer and John looks over his shoulder. Hale is gone. He sees a twisted bit of metal down towards the end of the aisle, but no sign of Hale. John ignores the cold chill that sweeps through his body and goes to the meat aisle. Loading up on a few packages of bacon. _Real_ bacon because he's making BLTs tonight. With _real_ mayo too.

Stiles won't protest much when John tells him who's coming over for dinner after all. Won't protest at all when John tells him why.

He's not sure if Hale will show or not, but maybe the threat will be enough to force Stiles' hand if he doesn't. Either way, he's sure to get actual answers tonight.

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End file.
